


Jump to Fly

by katiemariie



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Disabled Character, Eugenics, F/M, Happy Ending, Reproductive Coercion, institutionalization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 13:56:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10900737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiemariie/pseuds/katiemariie
Summary: Post-"Statistical Probabilities," Jack and Sarina finally get together. But life under the constant care (i.e., control) and observation (i.e., surveillance) of doctors leaves little room for romance, freedom, or even a real future. In ways both big and small, Jack and Sarina resist.





	Jump to Fly

Since their return from Deep Space Nine, Jack hasn’t spoken to Sarina, or looked her in the eye (not that either of them are fans of eye contact), or even engaged in their childhood pastime: playing hostage and captor, Jack holding her life in his hands, threatening to end it if the staff refuse their mutually (and silently) agreed demands.

But Sarina has felt his eyes on her, watching her not like a predator or a scientist (not that there’s much difference between the two in Sarina’s mind), but like a tourist circling a great statue, observing it from all sides.

(Sarina personally has never been on vacation or directly observed a tourist, but she’s watched her fair share of documentaries and travel logs.)

Jack’s silent appreciation unnerves her, his gaze raising the hairs along whatever piece of flesh it slides over. He’s never looked at her this way before, and it inspires the same kind of fear that made her shy away from dancing with him on DS9. Just when she’s certain she’ll crumble under the weight of it, Jack finally approaches her.

“I don’t say this a lot so you better listen,” Jack says, leaning down to poke his head over her shoulder. “And you better not tell anyone I said this. No, no, no.” Jack shakes his head. “You should tell everyone I said this. It counts as one of my greatest discoveries.” He sits down next to her on the couch. “Groundbreaking, truly, if I say so myself and I do. So, spread the word, tell your friends, step right up to the show of the century, extra, extra, read all about it: Jack the Magnificent was wrong. Sarina is not the mutant everyone thought she was.”

He lowers the hands cupped over his mouth and returns to his normal speaking voice. “I have a theory. There are two types of mutants. Not one, not three, not four, not five million. Only two. The mutants allowed to—who allow themselves—to change the fate of the universe. And the mutants who don’t. I always assumed that out of the four of us I would be the one to change history. But I was wrong. And not because I’m not capable. No, no, I am quite capable, and that’s not just mutant bravado speaking. I’ve looked at my charts and four out of five doctors agree that, if left to my own devices, I would have an outsized effect on intragalactic society. Anyway, you know that, of course you know that. There’s no need to go on about it. I’m here to talk about you, so let’s talk about you.

“You tattled to Bashir. You foiled our plan to meet with the Dominion. That proves you’re one of the few mutants willing and able to alter the fate of the galaxy. You sentenced billions to death at the hands of the Dominion. Functionally, you murdered them. Or you will. But the point is you’re not the little mouse I thought you were. You’re a dragon. Just like me.”

Jack straightens his posture, his hand smoothing the wrinkles in his shirt. “In light of this new discovery, I wouldn’t say no. If you approached me. I wouldn’t say no.”

As he stands to leave, Sarina catches his hand, weighing it down with the full rigid weight of her arm.

He sits, staring at their joined hands. His heartbeat thrums beneath Sarina’s fingertips.

Summoning all her will, Sarina places her free hand against Jack’s heart, noting his increased respiration, and lets it fall, trailing down his chest and over his stomach, stopping just at the waist of his pants.

Jack swallows. “Yes,” he whispers.

But as she moves to undo his fly, Jack stills her hand. “Wait.” He runs a trembling hand up her arm, over her shoulder, and down her back, stopping at her hip. He looks at her expectantly.

She nods, and she doesn’t run away, and he doesn’t talk, and it’s the scariest thing they’ve ever done.

-

Lauren returns from her physical therapy appointment to find Jack’s head nestled between Sarina’s thighs. Lauren approaches them slowly but purposefully (her movements are always more languid following a PT session), and for a moment Sarina thinks she intends to join in—a daunting prospect given the mountains of self-improvement Sarina has had to climb before growing so intimate with one person never mind two. Instead, Lauren grabs Jack by the hair and pulls him away, screeching to a halt the building sensation between Sarina’s legs.

“What are you doing?” Lauren hisses.

With the back of his hand, Jack wipes various bodily fluids (not all of them Sarina’s) from his beard. “You know Latin. You tell me. Unless you don’t know. Maybe none of the orderlies have ever bothered to—”

Finding Jack a lost cause, Lauren drops his head and glares down at Sarina. “You could get caught.”

Sarina inclines her head weakly in Lauren’s direction and widens her eyes.

“Yes, but when I get caught, it’s not with Jack.” Lauren pauses. “Thank god.”

“I’m doing fine without you, Lauren.” Jack scrubs his discarded shirt over his face. “And maybe if you knocked on my door, we wouldn’t go through so many orderlies.”

Lauren puts her hands on her hips. “If they fire orderlies for sleeping with me, what do you think they’ll do to you for seducing sweet little Sarina?”

“Hey!” Jack waves his now soiled shirt in Lauren’s face. “I didn’t seduce her. We’re in love.” He looks back at Sarina, expression plaintive. “We’re in love, right? We’re in love?”

Sarina nods as furiously as she can manage while lying on her back and, well, being herself.

“See?” Jack smirks at Lauren. “We’re in love.”

“Cute,” Lauren says. “But do you really think that will make a difference to them?”

As much as Sarina hates to agree with the person who interrupted their happy union, Lauren’s right. The notion that any of them—but particularly Jack and Sarina—could truly love someone remains unthinkable to the Institute’s staff. How can you love a person if you don’t see them as a person with their own thoughts, feelings, and independent existence? And it’s Karen Loews’ professional opinion that all four of them (but especially Sarina and Jack) are so caught up in their own heads that they don’t realize other people truly exist. You can’t love someone who’s not there.

“If you’re caught,” Lauren continues, “they will split us up. We’ll be separated. All of us, not just you and Jack.”

Sarina pulls her knees to her chest, withdrawing into herself. After all this, could things really be ending before they truly started (or, more accurately, before Sarina had a chance to finish)?

Jack, more accustomed to defiance, lifts his chin. “It’s simple then. We just won’t get caught.”

-

Before bed and after they’ve both cleaned up, Jack finds Sarina on the couch, cozy warm under one of Patrick’s quilts, staring down at a PADD. Using the quilt as cover, Jack slips his hand down the front of her pajama pants, camouflaging her increased respiration with his constant chatter.

When his hand withdraws, Sarina clings to him, wrapping a pinky around his wrist for as long as she dares.

-

In the morning, she leaves a PADD by his plate at the breakfast table. Patrick serves up pancakes while Sarina serves poetry: an amalgam, each line taken from Jack’s favorite poet.

_Come, let's away to prison;_  
We two alone will sing like birds i' the cage  
I do love nothing in the world so well as you: is not that strange? 

At lunch, she finds the PADD returned.

_Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? No, I cannot. I have not experienced summer, the seasons, in decades. But I see you every day. And for that I would live in eternal winter. But may we, in time, forge our own place in the sun?_

-

Jack buries his face in her hair, the weight of him a comfort. Sarina shifts beneath him, adjusting her hips into a more comfortable position. Grinding their pelvic bones together has become something of a hobby lately, but lying completely still as they do now turns iliac crests into daggers.

This used to be so much easier when they were younger and their bones softer (and Sarina’s much less developed) and coated with baby fat. And the staff who then considered this “behavior” undesirable but nothing prurient.

And yet her breath evens, the urge to pull out her hair diminishes, and the time between now and her next appointment slows: the seconds, minutes, hours, and days remain the same, but the moments they make up proliferate.

-

Jack’s head rests on her lap, his fingers pulling pills from the fabric of her well-worn dress.

“I don’t want to see them,” he says. “I shouldn’t have to see them. I didn’t choose to come here. They left me behind. They stayed away. And now they want to visit? They expect me to just drop everything and… I’ve had other birthdays. Why now?”

Sarina pulls gently at the first grey hair on Jack’s head.

“So they’re growing old. Boo hoo,” Jack replies. “So what? Everyone ages and everyone dies. I wish they would get on with it.”

Sarina lets her hand fall. Her palm cups the back of his head.

Jack sighs. “I know. I’m not mad at you. We had plans. And when a mutant makes plans, she keeps them. But then these fools decide to swing by the Institute to celebrate. And they expect me to drop everything? For what? I don’t know them. They’re not my family. They didn’t raise me. Genetically, we’re hardly even related. They saw to that.”

Across the ward, a door opens bringing with it the click-clack of Dr. Loews’ heels. 

They separate. Another embrace ended too soon, left unfulfilled.

-

Jack is gone for five days. Karen says he’s visiting with his parents but Sarina heard their vessel depart only a few hours after Jack was taken out for their visit. Sarina panics, worrying that they left with him, brought him back to a home he barely remembers.

But that’s foolish. The Institute would never let Jack leave. It will never let any of them leave.

Jack’s return confirms her worst suspicions. He’s silent and his clothes bear the telltale imprint of grav restraints.

She and Patrick help him into his pajamas. Faint purple bruises, barely passed over with a dermal regenerator, stripe Jack’s chest, arms, and legs.

No one says anything, but it’s agreed.

They need to get out of here.

-

Once the shuttle docks, they hurry over to the shrine, the most Bajoran place on this Bajoran station.

“We should’ve just gone to Bajor,” Jack says, biting his fingernails.

Lauren snaps, “And how exactly—”

An old vedek glares at them across the mostly-empty shrine.

Lauren nods at him and lowers her voice. “Do I really need to go over the probabilities again? If we go to an independent planet without transit papers, pretending to be Starfleet officers, someone will look us up and we will get caught. But if we sneak onto a Starfleet-managed space station and someone asks who we are, well…”

“That’s a stupid question,” Patrick finishes.

“I don’t like this,” Jack whispers. “Being at the mercy of Starfleet? Why even bother leaving the Institute? The captain does not like us.”

“He’s going to like at least one of us,” Patrick says.

“And until then we’ll be dealing with his first officer.” A leer spreads across Lauren’s features, transforming her entire posture. “The little butch redhead.”

“Speak of the devil,” Jack murmurs.

Major Kira enters the shrine, her eyes locking immediately upon a familiar but unplaceable group: a Starfleet admiral, his two lieutenants, and a shy, little cadet.

“Admiral, welcome to Deep Space Nine.” She smiles uneasily. “I’m flattered that you would ask for me by name, but the station’s commander typically handles Starfleet visitors. Are you sure you—”

“Honey,” Lauren says, “we’re not Starfleet. And we’re not visiting.”

“We’re mutants,” Jack adds.

“And we would like to request asylum,” Patrick finishes.

-

The circus continues, its cast growing as Julian reports to the shrine. “Major, how can I—” Recognition dawns on his face. “Oh, for god’s sake.” He pushes past Kira, closing in on Jack. “What are you doing here? Don’t answer that. We will all be better off if at least one of us isn’t an accessory to whatever scheme you’ve pulled this time. I assume that’s why you didn’t write to tell me you were coming.” The pain of exclusion, as it so often does, colors Julian’s voice.

He turns to Major Kira. “Major, I apologize for whatever disturbance my friends have caused. I promise I will return them to the Institute as soon as—”

“That’s not why I asked you here,” Kira interrupts, her face solemn as granite. “Could you run a scan for Sarina’s general health?”

Julian blinks, reorienting himself. “Certainly.” 

He pulls his tricorder from his medical bag, and runs it over Sarina’s body. He pauses, checking and rechecking the results. His face falls.

“Sarina,” he starts quietly, “who did this? Was it someone at the Institute?”

Jack waves, his smile beaming. “Hello, doctor.”

Julian looks to Jack and back to Sarina for confirmation. She nods slightly, a small grin forming at the corners of her mouth. Julian holsters his tricorder.

“I suppose a congratulations is in order,” Julian says.

“Not quite,” Lauren says, sidling ever closer to Kira.

“They’ve come to the station to request asylum,” Kira says.

“Pretty ironic, huh?” Jack babbles. “We’ve been locked in an asylum for years, and now we’re asking for one. Pretty ironic.”

“On what grounds?” Julian asks.

“Reproductive coercion,” Kira answers. “They claim that if the Institute were to discover Sarina’s pregnancy, a medical abortion would be administered without her consent.”

Julian appraises the four of them. “Do you realize what kind of claim you’re making? I understand that conditions at the Institute are far from ideal, but something like this could destroy the careers of—”

“They’ve done it before,” Patrick mumbles, not looking up from his shoes.

“No, I’ve examined all of your medical records,” Julian protests. “If I saw anything indicating—”

“Patient complains of heavy, irregular menstrual period following last visit on stardate: 41153.7,” Lauren says flatly, reciting the words from memory. “Look at the personnel records. You’ll see an orderly was fired for ‘misconduct with a patient’ that same day.”

“They edited your medical records,” Julian surmises.

Lauren smirks. “They gave you the same falsified copies as they give us.”

“Standard of care for mutants,” Jack adds.

Julian closes his eyes as if he could unsee the truths in front of him. “Lauren, I never knew you wanted to be a mother.”

“I don’t,” Lauren replies. “But they never asked.”

“And even if they let us have the baby,” Jack asks, “do you think the Federation would let a couple mutants raise it?”

Sarina hands Julian a PADD open to a document he’s no doubt familiar. Sarina guesses its words played no small part in Julian’s decision to accept a position on Bajoran soil.

Still, he reads, “‘The intentional creation of genetically enhanced offspring either through artificial or natural means will result in the prosecution of the progenitors and the placement of the offspring under the custody of Federation social services.’”

“I think that settles the matter,” Kira says. 

-

The day after their asylum application is approved, Julian transports down to their small home in the Bajoran countryside.

He finds her alone in the living room, sitting on the couch, not daring to venture onto the new rocking chair. It’s a novelty unafforded to them at the Institute, but Sarina’s second trimester dizziness (no doubt exacerbated by the planet’s unfamiliar gravity) makes it seem just as dangerous as Dr. Loews insisted it could be.

But the baby, Captain Sisko assures, will love it.

Julian sits down next to her, close the way he usually does as if she were hard of hearing.

“I heard the immigration board approved your applications,” he says, “including the added whistleblower protections for all four of you. It’s good that you can all stay together.” He lays a tentative hand on her shoulder. “And even if something happens to the baby…” He pauses meaningfully. “…you won’t be taken back to the Institute.”

Sarina looks for her PADD—it’s on the table next to Julian’s medical bag—ready to write a scathing response to this offer—this accusation—but that would take far too long so she just turns her head as if to drop a kiss on Julian’s hand and… 

Julian jumps up from the couch, cradling his bitten hand. “Point taken.” He brings the hand to his mouth, ready to lick the wound before realizing the medical impropriety of it all. He eyes Sarina warily. “If I pick up my medical bag, will you bite me again?”

Using a Starfleet code pioneered by a now missing admiral, Sarina blinks twice for no.

Julian cautiously removes his bag from the table, pulling out a variety of regenerators, decontaminators, and anti-inflammatories. Sitting down on the floor, Julian goes to work on his hand.

“I am sorry for… Even if you did bite me, I am sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to imply or-or threaten, but I thought…” He sighs. “You may not count me as your intellectual equal, but even I can run statistical probabilities. Don’t forget: I’ve seen your medical records. You’ve been on birth control since adolescence. The likelihood of you becoming pregnant is astonishingly low. And yet.” He pauses, interrupted by the high whine of the dermal regenerator. “For this happy accident to occur, you must have done something to sabotage your birth control. Either by taking a drug that decreased its effectiveness—perhaps you simulated an infection, prompting the administration of antibiotics—or you prevented the birth control from entering your body entirely. I doubt they’d give it to you as a pill, so you must have created some kind of lifelike silicone patch to fool the hypospray.

“Whatever the case, you became pregnant intentionally, something you no doubt knew would win you asylum on Bajor. And now that you’ve gotten it, I have to ask, as your friend and doctor, if you still want to continue with the pregnancy.”

Sarina blinks once—long and slow.

Julian’s demeanor softens; he lays down his instruments. “You’ve wanted this since the very first day I met you. You and Jack, a little house filled with your experiments, a baby, Patrick and Lauren running about causing trouble.”

Sarina blinks, her eyes filling with tears.

Julian hugs his knees to his chest. “I’ve waited for people like you waited for Jack. I waited for them to turn around and realize that I was there. I thought if I waited, and did everything right, stayed within the lines, behaved like a good little mutant, then one day, I would get everything I wanted, everything I thought I deserved. But that’s not true, is it? People like us don’t get the happiness we want without taking risks. Oh, certainly, I’ve taken risks professionally. My entire career is a risk. But in my personal life?” He looks down at the rug. “I feel so intensely but I almost never know what I’m feeling. Did I love Jadzia? Did I admire her? Did I want to be with her or just be like her? I suppose now I’ll never know.”

Sarina shifts in her seat, fighting the discomfort of sudden emotional intimacy and her changing body.

Julian looks up at her through his eyelashes. “What’s it like to know? To be certain enough to take a risk?”

Sarina picks up her PADD and begins to write.


End file.
